


The weight god puts on the devil's shoulders (is too much even for him)

by ESH_es



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Lucifer, One Shot, Ruler of Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23140537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ESH_es/pseuds/ESH_es
Summary: "God will never put a weight on your shoulders that you cannot carry"Maybe sometimes he does...-------------Somewhere at the beginning of Season 3 of Lucifer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	The weight god puts on the devil's shoulders (is too much even for him)

**Author's Note:**

> Conversation between Ella and Lucifer somewhere at the beginning of season 2
> 
> found the quote of the summary on Pinterest and couldn't resist turning it into a OS^^
> 
> disclaimer! 
> 
> The view on god and religion itself is from the character's point of view! Everyone has the right to believe in what ever and whom ever he/she likes!  
> This is not my point of view on religion!  
> you do you!
> 
> If you want to follow my journey/ future goals and ideas for my fanfics & writing in general, head over to Instagram --> @ESH_es_writes!😁
> 
> lots of love <3

His chest was heaving, ragged and fast. His breath left in tight huffs, his lungs desperately trying to suck enough air into them. He couldn’t. As much as he yearned to inhale the fresh spring air, all he got was ash. Ash that scratched his throat and the stinging smell of sulfur that left him retching. A sour cough escaped him, burned his throat, tears blurring his sight. He needed to get it _out_. He needed to breathe. He couldn’t – he needed to get that _damned_ ash _out_. The tight grip on his trachea left him gagging. Air. He needed. He _needed_. Bile rising in his esophagus.

A hard clap on his back ripped him out of his daze and – _air_. He gulped down the oxygen, the soft breeze filled with the sweet scent of blooming life, mixed with the city’s dirt, but it replaced the brimstone and chased the ash away, caressed his lungs. He exhaled softly, blinking, looking up into warm brown eyes.

“Hey there, buddy”, Miss Lopez’ cheery voice filled his being. He wasn’t down _there_. He was in Los Angeles. He wasn’t…. “You good?”

He could only nod, forcing a little smile on his lips.

“Must have choked on your lunch”, she took a seat next to him, with her usual spark, lighting up everything around her. Even his parched and cracked heart, enough to tear him out of the hell his mind had created.

“One could say so”, slowly his lips formed the words. He inhaled. Again. He was sitting on the bench in front of the precinct, not down _there._ Not in the throne towering over the prison the deceased’s guilt created.

Carefully he rubbed his eyes. The Latina beside him chattered away, but the meaning behind her sentences didn’t reach his brain. The sun shone happily down on them, kissed his skin the way he wished someone else would, tried to fill the hollowness he felt inside, but couldn’t reach that far. His seared heart, dark with ash and stained blood, spasmed painfully, longing for its touch, but vainly so. A hand shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, Lucifer, you okay?”

“Hm?”, a blink. He focused on the woman again. Her lips slipped into a concerned, yet soft smile.

“Are you okay? You look”, her gaze swept over his face – tired and haunted -, “not good.”

He froze, wanting to say something, but halting as he didn’t know what it was. The corners of his mouth tugged downwards into a disgusted grimace for a split second. All he could do was shake his head.

“I”, he swallowed, “I don’t think so, no.” His hands flew up into a defensive position, as he could literally feel the desire to hug him radiating around the small woman.

“Uh – don’t, Miss Lopez, if you would be so kind.” He would never understand her need for touch.

Disappointment flickered across her features and her arms - already on their way upwards - stopped. A sigh.

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Shoot.”

“Pardon me?”, he gifted her a confused frown.

“Shoot”, she took a bite of the sandwich in her hand and sent him a warm smile. Well, he supposed it should be a smile, “What’s buggin’ you?”

“I –“

“And don’t say it’s fine”, she interrupted him, “cause it’s obviously not. Come on, that’s what friends are here for, right? You can tell me, Luci-fer.”

He paused, stunned. He knew that she liked him – because what’s not to like? – but…

“Friends?”, he said slowly. Uncertain, surprised, maybe.

“That’s what I said, buddy!”, she winked and continued to unwrap on of the precinct’s dreadful vending machine lunches.

He curled his nose in disgust at the smell.

“How can you even intend to eat _this_ ”, he gestured at the bread in her hand, “you’ll be hanging over the toilet seat faster than you can say –“

She grinned and rolled her eyes, “Stop deflecting, man.”

He sat startled, before a sly grin danced across his lips, masking the fact that he would not like to talk about it – thank you very much. He had a therapist for such matters.

“Why?”, he teased, but as she smacked his arm, he grunted a little, exaggerated, “Ow.”

“Come on”, she shoved his shoulder with hers, “you don’t just sit around brooding. Tell me.”

“You will not stop bugging me, until I do indeed “ _spill the beans_ ”?”

Her grin was answer enough.

He sighed. Bloody hell. Leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, he stared at the concrete, through which dandy lion leaves fought their way upwards

“Very well”, he breathed, “sometimes… sometimes I get the feeling that everything”, he vaguely gestured with his hand, “is too much for me to bear. There. Happy?”

He sent her a dark look, trying to focus on her and ignore the way the air tasted of ash all over again.

She looked at him, considering, before she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I get it, sometimes things just suck, right? But from my experience? _God will never put a weight on your shoulders that you cannot carry_ _.”_

He barked a bitter laugh at that. Rage flooded his veins all over again.

“Oh, but he _did_ ”, he snapped at her, eyes hooded and angry. Only at the rim of his consciousness he registered her flinch.

Burning skin and falling and falling and falling, that helpless, panicked feeling in his stomach. A sword piercing through his middle. Eyes that resembled his in so many ways, full of hatred and regret. Ash and sulfur etching his lungs with each breath he took. Screams echoing in his head. Again and again.

“Maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit”, Miss Lopez soft voice bringing him back. Again. “Maybe you’re stronger than you think.”

He took a deep breath. He was here, not down _there_. He gulped and turned towards her.

“Some things are even too much for the devil”, his words rumpling gravely in the empty cavity that used to hold his bright and overflowing soul, that hid in the deepest corner of his being at the moment.

“Riiight”, she said and annoyance danced across his lips at the way in which she drew the word out, “because God is your _Dad_.”

“Humor me”, he sighed worn out, “it was you, who wanted to talk about feelings, if I recall this conversation correctly.”

He didn’t know why he wanted her to understand now. He hadn’t even wanted to talk about it.

“Right!”, she nodded along, “alright. Okay. So, as God is like, your father and you are the devil… what did he do that was too much for him?”

“Oh, I don’t know”, he growled, “throwing me out of heaven, for starters, making me fall and fall until I crashed in hell, hard enough to make me feel like every single bone in my being had been shattered.” Vivid pictures in front of his inner eye. _Pain._ “Abandoning me, cutting me off of my family, only to be forced to torture and punish the worst that humanity has to offer. Drowning in a cacophony of pleads and screams. Never being able to close my eyes without the fear of being slaughtered by some demons in my sleep.” He hated the way his voice trembled.

He needed her to understand. He needed her to understand that her benevolent god is not who she thought he was.

“He forced me to rule over hell for eons. _Eons_ , Miss Lopez. _Alone_. The only company I had were a few lousy demons – Maze excluded – and the screams of the tortured. He _vilified_ me. My name invokes fear and despair, sins are committed in _my_ name! _I_ never made _anyone_ do _anything_! I do not do that. I do not, but that’s not what everyone thinks, is it? The devil is the incarnation of _evil._

And every time that I manage to escape, to come here – to earth – because I cannot stand Hell anymore, my brother comes and drags me back to this wretched place. How’s that with _too much_ for starters?”

He couldn’t stop, not now, that the words were tumbling over his lips and millennia of pain unraveled. His voice now louder, not booming, but not quite the quiet words that it had been before.

“And now, that I… that I finally thought I managed to be free from him and his manipulations, he comes back, slaps those bloody things onto my back – and I do not want _them_. I loathe _them_! They are _not_ , who I am! He is toying with me. When all I want is to be my own man”, he swallowed and his tone was softer now, defeated, “to be accepted, for who I am. To make my own choices. To decide over my own fate. Because – isn’t that the grandest joke, that you’ve ever heard – he _planned_ for it to happen that way, that omniscient bastard! He _knew_ – “, he almost choked, the cavity in his chest filling with his angry soul, his hurt soul – because that was what he was designed to be. The Venom of god, his poison, righteous and raging, his punisher -, “He decided my fate for me. He _decided_ for me to fall.”

His chest was heaving, ragged and fast.

A warm hand drew soothing circles across his shoulder blade. It was quiet for a while, only the cars driving by, the rustling of twigs in the breeze and his agitated breath filled his ears. 

“Shh”, the warm presence next to him mumbled, her sandwich resting at the bench next to her. And for a short while he allowed himself to lean into it, to give in and take comfort from her touch. (Maybe he _did_ understand now.) They sat and remained silent, letting time pass by and giving his soul a break.

“You know”, she raised her voice after a long moment, “Maybe he did design for the devil to fall, to rule over hell, but maybe he did it, because there was no other angel who would have been strong enough for it.”

There’s something bitter on his tongue as he swallowed and said, quietly, “The thing is, Miss Lopez”, his ancient eyes holding her gaze, “ _No angel should have to be strong enough for Hell._ ”

oOo

But the night they fought the demons at the Mayan temple, the night he had to leave, he decided, that maybe he _could_ be strong enough for hell. Strong enough for _them_. His _family_ on earth.


End file.
